A Beautiful Pearl
by ChekhovTheTroper
Summary: It was a tragic day, tragic for the families that dealt with this and tragic for those who know about it. Either way, the only thing to do is remember it and remember that there are many other beautiful pearls in this world.


**DISCLAIMER: ****_iCarly _****is not in my possession...and normally, I'd have a witty joke to weave in, but now's not the time to make jokes.**

* * *

Carly Shay stood on the edge of the dock, holding the paper origami boat in her hands. She had tried to color it neatly, but that was difficult coming from the girl who drew a sunset in Third Grade that teacher said had the texture of spoiled fruit. _Maybe I have Spencer's artistic gene after all_, she thought, smiling slightly as she looked down. There weren't any stars in the sky, which she's been accustomed to since babyhood; but in a dreamlike vision that came to mind, the water looks dappled with faint glimmers and surreal shading.

_Did the water look like it years ago? Did they even notice?_

"Hey, Carls?"

Carly craned her head over her shoulders. Sam Puckett leaned against her 1964 Sterling, face puckered from eating the last of her Fat Cake. It had only been a year since Carly's absence, and in that time she'd only gotten an inch taller. However, judging from the devious smirk on her face, not a lot has changed.

Sam rolled up the powdered cellophane and tossed it into the water. Carly rolled her eyes. "Thanks for polluting Mother Earth's bathtub."

"Hey, if my mom can bathe in dirty water, anyone can." Sam chucked, shuffling her hands into her pocket. "So, whatcha doin?"

"Waiting for Spencer to help me sail this boat. It's, uh, tradition."

Sam nodded, aware of the connotation. "Is your Dad coming, too?"

"Probably. They're running late, though. Maybe they got caught in traffic."

"Or maybe they were exchanging conspiratorial cooking recipes at the Groovy Smoothie."

"What?" Carly bristled. "You're making that up!"

"No chizz. I stopped by to pick up two smoothies, and I saw T-Bo trying to offer them quesadillas on a stick."

"Quesadillas on a stick?"

"We missed out on a lot, kid." Sam patted Carly's shoulder, smiling sincerely. "So, how's Italy been?"

"It's been fantastic," Carly mused, brushing a free tendril of hair out of her face. "My Dad enrolled me into this fantastic private school. A lot of the teachers there are nice, even the lunch ladies. I'm even taking up Drama as an elective."

"That's great."

"Yeah…the only thing I don't understand is why every time a student says their line wrong, the instructor yells out, _Fanculo il tuo viso!_"

Sam sniggered, muffling herself with her fist. When Carly gave her a quizzical look, Sam made a swift hand motion and whispered something into Carly's ear. Carly grimaced, eyes widened to full capacity. Sam shrugged again. "Eh. I've heard worse. Said worse, actually. Did I ever tell you about the time I called Rynia Doulem an _egoista cagna prostituirsi?_"

"Yes. She cried for five hours in the bathroom, and Principal Franklin sentenced you to wash all the lockers and desks after school for the rest of the week."

"And you know what I say about tagging. Damn, my wrists hurt like hell afterwards." Sam grimaced, absently rubbing her wrists at the memory.

"So, how have you and Freddie been?"

"I don't know about Fredwad, but I've been doing great. My baby over there is still a-purrin; I'm living in L.A. with _another _goody-two-shoes, and I've resurrected my noogie quota, so…things have been great, too."

"Who's the goody-two-shoes?"

"Cat Valentine," Sam said with mock-pensiveness. "I think she was friends with that Tori Vega bitch. I don't remember. She's nice, though. A little clingy, too, but she can be devious and _very _easy to mess with. The only major difference between you two is you have a more natural hair color."

"Sam, could you try and be a nice person, for once?"

"No. Probably not." Sam said, resulting in a billow of laughter. However, once it faltered like the sea-salty breeze, the two were left in a deadened silence. Sam looked ahead and saw a showboat in the distance. It didn't appear to be a Seattle showboat, but the inviting glow and extravagant essence of socialites laughing amongst swigs of champagne irritated her.

Sam glanced at Carly, who was transfixed on her little boat. She was still smiling, but whenever she shivered, it wasn't because she forgot to bring a coat. Sam did likewise, staring down at the water and awkwardly intertwining her hands together. She never liked being in situations like these, because she always said something that completely killed the mood. She was used to being called insensitive and rude; she worked hard to earn that reputation in the first place. However, seeing her best friend like this, especially after a year's worth of absence, made Sam feel incongruent towards the context.

"So…err, um," Sam plunged. "How's Papa Shay doing?"

"He's handling it OK," Carly nodded, eyes filtering around. "It's Mr. Earl that isn't taking it so well."

"Ah."

"I mean, it's been building since he was sixteen. He's a good man, though. He's eighty-eight, now, and he's always been my dad's best friend. My dad…looks up to him, in a sense, even though he's technically taller than Mr. Earl. I didn't really know him that well until I moved to Italy, and…I didn't know how much he…"

Carly began to feel a twang in her personal composition and stopped short, trying to ignore the heat she felt in her eyes. Sam wrapped her arm around her, not saying anything but anticipating the collapse. Carly didn't succumb to the need to cry, however, and simply smiled at her friend.

"Thank you. I've missed you, too."

"And I didn't miss you a bit." Sam said, smirking. Carly accepted her friend's support and pulled her into a hug. Carly sighed, snuggling against Sam's neck. Carly often recalled minor details from her Seattle lifestyle, and she always knew to be thankful for it; but with this paper boat in her arms and her friend hugging her for the first time in a year, it hit her with greater impact than a billow of nostalgia could.

When she withdrew from Sam's arms, Carly made no effort in diminishing the blatant glitter in her eyes. She blinked, and her cheeks glistened for a brief moment. Sam offered a hand to wipe the tears away, but Carly shook her head. "I'm gonna be OK. If you want to leave now—"

"Nah. I think we're gonna hang with you for a while."

"Really, Sam, I know this doesn't—wait, what do you mean _we?_"

"Hey," Sam called out, glowering playfully at someone. "Quit jerking off and get out here."

The van parked next to Sam's motorcycle unlocked, and Freddie Benson stepped out. He was holding a large coat in one hand and his phone in the other. He smiled broadly at her, arms outstretched. "Well, I'm all open."

"Freddie." Carly appeared more reserved than surprised, but she still ran into his arms, tears still dribbling from her eyes. She laughed, trying to compose herself again. Freddie sighed patiently, letting her rest her head against his neck for a moment. She pulled back and asked: "What are you doing here?"

"Well, Spencer called us, saying you two were heading here tonight and, well, we wanted to be there for you this time."

"Really? I didn't think that you knew…"

"Well, Spencer asked us to come by this time, but we would've visited anyway had we known. Need a coat?"

"Oh. Thank you." Carly handed Freddie her boat and let him help her into the coat. She shivered instinctively, but the chill was momentary. When Freddie handed back her little craft, she nodded. "You didn't have to do this."

"Well," Freddie said, "this is very important to you."

"And what better way to commemorate people than to have a support system of your brother, Puke-Breath, and me?"

Freddie glared at Sam, but the tic in his cheek gave way to a light chuckle. Sam stepped forward, reaching into her pockets. "Hey, Carly. I got something for you."

Carly turned around and saw Sam pull something small out of her jeans' pocket. When Sam unveiled it, it wasn't something dangerous or edible. It was a flattened, wilted cherry blossom. Carly scourged for a reaction, but Sam beat her to the punch.

"C'mon. Bring your lil origami over here."

Carly reluctantly held out her hands, cupping the delicate object in her hand. Sam peeled the flower off of her hand and gently placed it within the paper rim. Carly blinked once, twice, and smiled graciously. "Thank you. So much."

"I thought it would be nice symbolism."

The petals were of a crippled finesse. In the darkness, the gentle hues were noticeable, and the stem was plucked off. Carly always found these blossoms to be beautiful, and even now, they still looked as graceful as ever. She knew the appearance was on purpose, and the serenity was still intact. Carly wondered if there would be other families who would feel the same.

The three teens heard Spencer and Colonel Shay walk towards the docks. The Colonel kept his hands folded and his face calm; Spencer was wearing his captain's hat, shoveling the last piece of quesadilla into his mouth. The Colonel regarded Carly's friends respectfully. "I'm sorry for being late, sweetie. Spencer and I were discussing something important."

Spencer's shoulders slumped. "In other words, Dad received a phone call while T-Bo and I had an argument over…politics."

"You mean over Galaxy Wars?" Freddie leered.

"He will never understand the motivation of the Red Skynauts." Spencer said valiantly, narrowing his eyes at Freddie.

"What was the call about, Dad?" Carly asked.

"Well…it was about Mr. Earl," Colonel Shay sighed, unable to generate any suspense. The three friends tightened, gauging the Colonel's expression. Spencer sobered up, trying to choke back his own sadness. The Colonel pulled out a picture of Mr. Earl from his sleeve. "The nurse told me that he wanted me to have this picture. She was just as shocked as I was. He was expected to carry on until he decided to…"

The Colonel cleared his throat, stepped forward, and knelt in front of Carly. The picture of Mr. Earl was taken when Earl was sixteen, circa 1941. The man that stood behind him was his father, someone who had a smile to remember. Earl had that trait from his father, but afterwards, that smile was a forgotten memory.

"He spoke of you a few days ago. I told him about your old website and how you were doing in Florence with me. He said he's very proud of you and he doesn't want you to lose faith in anything, even after I'm gone. I wish I could…say the same about him, but he's not the only one to feel like this. I've dealt with many people, friends and soldiers, who are hurt like this. I can't get over the stuff I've seen, and for all I know, there will be more out there. You can't change the past and you can never stop mourning; but there _are _good things in this world, and no matter what happens, I want you to always look forward to the future. You, your friends, and Spencer…you're all good people that this world needs. And there are good people there, too, and we need to pray for them, too."

"Oh, Dad…" Carly let her father hold her hands, taking the boat from her hands. He smiled at the colors of the paper as well as the flower placed in the center. He glanced at the photo one last time, nodded, and looked up at Carly with a doleful smile.

"I think the photo ought to be a part of this, as well. I think Mr. Earl and his father would greatly appreciate it."

Carly tried to find something to say, but instead she nodded and let her father adjust the picture against one end of the boat. She turned back towards the edge of the dock, her train of friends and family trailing behind her. She knelt down, hands stretched out over the water—

"Wait."

Spencer joined her side and unfurled a fist. In his palm was a glassy pearl. Carly looked up at him, and he murmured: "I know it isn't much, but Socko's aunt Sapphire is a jeweler and I asked if she had any defective jewelry she was going to throw away."

"So, you got a pearl that's gonna catch fire any moment?" Sam asked, more worried than snarky.

"No," Spencer assured. "She had a broken pearl necklace and I asked if I could take one pearl. Y'know, for a jeweler, she never questions anything. Then again, she knows I'm friends with Socko, so that's probably why."

"Thank you," Carly whispered. "Thank you for this."

"You're welcome." Spencer grinned at his sister and handed her the pearl. She caught between her thumb and index finger, gingerly placing it on the last open space on the boat.

Before she could set it in the water, Freddie stepped forward. "Wait, do you know the song Angel Flight by Radney Foster?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Freddie tapped at his phone a few times, and the first thing she heard was the soft hum of guitar strings.

Carly melted, glancing back at all of them. "I love you guys."

They all nodded and anticipated Carly's next move. She turned around and slowly placed the boat in the water. She gave it a soft push, and let it float away. While watching it, Carly thought about Mr. Earl's father and wondered what Earl's relationship with him was like. Did they ever pray for military families even before? Did they ever wax nostalgic or talk about the future? What did Earl do after his father died on That Day? All these questions were left unanswered, but Carly figured it was all for the best, as not everything will be answered. She simply knew that she would enjoy every moment with her family and friends, as any moment could be the last time.

The Colonel rubbed her head, looking down at her. "Y'know, I think Mr. Earl and his father are probably looking down at us right now, smiling at all of us."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

Carly was content with this answer, and turned back to watch the boat float further, further, until it peacefully sunk to the bottom.

* * *

**A/N: ****_December 7th, 1941._**

**Remember that date, remember Pearl Harbor, and pray for families in the US as well as families in Japan.**

**-Peace from the gun-troper.**


End file.
